


Shadowsmith

by JenCforCarolina



Series: Eyahn [11]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Cayde's really just there for ensemble, what timing mirite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenCforCarolina/pseuds/JenCforCarolina
Summary: To defend the Consensus and the City from threats within. We walk in fear's shadows, and craft them to our own design.-Code of the Shadowsmiths





	Shadowsmith

**Author's Note:**

> The Shadowsmiths are as elusive as their name implies. There is only one in canon mention of them, on the single solitary Cloak of the Shadowsmiths. I built this concept from scratch, about two years ago, and then threw my own Ocs at it, naturally. Finally got around to editing it, just in time for Forsaken.

“Don’t give her that look,” Cayde-6 whirred, “It’s the littlest ones you gotta watch out for.” Kamon-9 blinked acknowledgment with just a hint of disbelief.

And she was little, craning her head up to talk with Shaxx. Kamon had walked straight past her on the way to briefing and barely even noticed her, hardly assumed she was to be his partner for the assignment.

“She’s not wearing the cloak.” He noticed, a faint clack of his jaw conveying uncertainty. He rather liked his old cloak, hadn’t necessarily wanted to switch, but assumed it part of the job.

“You don’t have to wear the cloak. Only the kinderguardians think you _have_ to wear the cloak.”

“Kinderguardians don’t know what the cloak is for.” Kamon shot back. Cayde waved him off with a buzz and a flick of the wrist.

Quieter, he added: “You’ve both been briefed. Get on it. And get changed before you go down there.” Kamon gave a curt nod and marched off.

The little Hunter’s eyes were on him the moment he separated from the Vanguard. He could tell from here because he had been equally intent on her. Shaxx’s gaze followed initially, responding to her actions, but he showed less interest in Kamon than she did. Instead, he took up a pad from his table and skimmed the files on it’s screen.

Kamon’s assigned partner was even smaller up close. She couldn’t be five feet tall, her long white and gold cloak trailed just above her ankles. The hood was huge and covered more than it framed her blue face, but eerie yellow eyes glowed beneath it. Conversely, her tiny armor fit snug, obviously modified by her Ghost. 

There was a conspicuous red strip tied about her belt, it’s end bore the mark of the crucible, she was a Redjack too? He scanned her gear for any other sigils of any other factions, or the mark of Osiris, finding none.

“Got a lot of irons in a lot of fires, do you?” He asked anyway, trying to be conversational. She blinked emotionlessly in response.

“Just the two.” Shaxx answered for her, giving a meaningful glance at Kamon’s cloak. To most it was simply a haphazard stitch of fabrics, a put together symbol of a meaning only the bearer understood. But Shaxx was likely privy to some of the Vanguard secrets, and was especially aware of this mission in particular. He’d been the one to bring the matter to Zavala. Kamon figured it safe to assume he knew what it stood for. 

The Shadowsmiths.

“Get on out there little wolf.” Kamon didn’t imagine for a moment Shaxx was speaking to him. The little Hunter girl smiled to the Crucible Master with only her eyes, her brows raising just faintly but enough to shift her entire expression to fondness. The big man huffed and crossed his arms, turning his attention to crucible reports coming through the radio.

With that signal, she turned to fall in step with Kamon. Her little strides kept up surprisingly well as they made their way out to the plaza. 

“Cayde said Banshee would have an address to start at-” Kamon began, but was interrupted when his partner pulled a data chip from the folds of her scarf and thrust it at him. It was a shy sort of motion, not aggressive. She didn’t meet his eyes but her face betrayed no displeasure. 

“Oh. Thank you… uhm…” He said.

“I am Eyahn.” She replied, yellow eyes flicking to meet his gaze for a moment before she went back to fiddling with her scarf. The Exo was getting more than a few second thoughts. This was only his third mission for the Shadowsmiths, and he wasn’t quite comfortable having the weight of leadership on his shoulders yet, but it seemed that was what was happening. Forget that Cayde had called her a veteran. She could hardly look him in the eye.

“Kamon.” He replied to her introduction. “I’ll look over this. Meet you here in a half hour in something less conspicuous.”

She held eye contact for longer this time, nodded agreement, and scurried off towards one of the entrances to the dormitory floors. Kamon fed the chip to his Ghost and followed a bit slower pace. 

He contemplated going back to Cayde and demanding some explanation, but decided that may be in poor form. It had been years but he was still getting the hang of the ins and outs of the Vanguard’s strange, often nonexistent chain of command. He’d never liked orders, but something about Cayde’s natural tone always made them feel more like suggestions. It made him simultaneously easy to work with and difficult to pin down as authority or equal.

He pushed the worries aside and headed for the Vaults to grab new gear. He had a cloak to exchange.

\----

It was twenty minutes later when Kamon re-emerged, dressed in common Hunter fieldweave, minus the conspicuous armor pieces. It would blend in fine as winter gear, as the months were beginning to get colder in the Last City. He donned his first cloak, it was a large semi-circle of cloth that was worn over the shoulder, covering three quarters of him in long drapery. It looked less like a signature Hunter’s cape and more like a functional shroud. It also handily concealed the blade and hand cannon at his hip. His Ghost held other weapons in translight storage, but it still felt good to have a weight on him. Something to grab without revealing himself to civilians. He just looked like a normal rogue, a mercenary. Though the City had very few, they existed, and were typically not bothered.

He wondered if Eyahn could pull the disheveled look off. As he approached their meeting point, it became apparent that she could not. 

What she could pull off was innocence. The only sign of Hunter armor in her outfit was perhaps the boots that poked out from beneath her ankle-length pink skirt. A cyan sweater that looked faintly too big met a neatly wrapped dark grey headscarf. He could see nowhere to conceal a weapon, so she must have kept her arms with her Ghost as well. And she tamped down her Light expertly, he couldn’t sense it at all, and would be surprised if even a Warlock could. Eyahn was unrecognizable as a Guardian -or even herself- until he was closer, and the same yellow eyes from earlier pierced from under the rim of fabric. No one would think twice looking at her... but they might if they saw her with him.

“Um.” He hummed. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“The warehouse is towards the east tower.” She replied. “An easy walk.”

“Thats not what I meant-” Kamon began to argue, but shrugged with increasing exasperation and started walking, as Eyahn had already started heading for the lift by the hangar.

“I meant,” he continued, when the pair had reached an elevator and begun their descent. “Our covers may clash. A little girl seen with someone dressed like me is inherently suspicious.”

Now, at last, her gaze locked firmly on his, did not falter. “How?” She asked simply.

“Well.” He began, a little disarmed by her sudden attention. Those eyes were creepy. “I look like a vagabond and you look like a child. People will wonder why we are walking together.”

“Will they wonder why we are Guardians?” She asked. There was no change in tone, no sarcasm, no sass. 

“They shouldn’t know…” Kamon replied uncertainly, lights blinking confusion. She nodded slightly at that, a sagely gesture in a way. Kamon clamped his jaw and tried to follow her train of logic. 

The rest of the ride was bathed in an awkward silence. Eyahn did not appear bothered by it. Kamon, however, had grown used to Delah, his chatty teammate, and despite himself he missed her in the silence.

_Gonna have to come up with a convincing enough reason for her not to ask where I’ve gone all day._ He thought, and set to work planning the conversation as a way to pass the time.

Three minutes and forty iterations later, the doors opened to the bottom of the tower, and Eyahn briskly led the way out the security checkpoints and into the lobby. 

Out on the streets, well paved and populous here near the Tower, Kamon leaned closer and asked again, “Should we take separate routes and meet at the location?” As he did, an onlooker turned their head to watch, and he felt instantly embarrassed. He set a subroutine to keep reminding himself he was here on a mission, just doing his job, he was supposed to be here, doing his job… It helped a little. 

“You worry too much.” Eyahn stated, matter-of-factly. She kept an even stride right where she wanted to go, following the sidewalk east. 

“I just don’t want any complications.” Kamon argued. “I’ll split off when we get closer. Please don’t tell me you plan to walk right up to the building?”

“It is where we are going.” She replied, staring straight ahead still. 

“I don’t think it’s that simple.” He muttered, but garnered no reply from the little Awoken. She _really_ looked like a child…

“I’m going to scout ahead.” He decided, quickening his pace and passing her once they were on a stretch with less pedestrians. “I’ll see you in a few.”

On the way, Kamon tried to come up with a plan, since his partner was obviously not volunteering anything. They had no blueprint on the warehouse, only a location, and a tip to look for Omolon weapons. Four Omolon guns had critically overheated in the past couple weeks. Two were during Crucible matches, and of less consequence. One exploded on board a Guardian’s ship while in the hangar, non-guardian crew narrowly avoided injury. The last had been in the militia barracks, and three ‘nons were in critical condition in a hospital. Investigations into the final incident had come up with nothing more than a malfunction.

Neither Shaxx nor Banshee were convinced, bringing up records of the previous three incidents, and forwarding them to the Vanguard. Cayde assumed jurisdiction and organized the mission.

And then Kamon was stuck with this teammate.

One who still looked like an innocent little girl, he realized, as his surroundings changed. The further from the active Tower they got, the less developed the City was. Towards the center was well established and built. Out here on the rim was more ramshackle, people who couldn’t really afford to live in the nicer districts set up where they could, with whatever they could. The later refugees and their families and descendants, those from the last half of the century, had come into the City penniless and disheveled, and promptly set their bags down on the first bits of empty land they were pointed to. 

Kamon slowed his pace, loitering now at corners and signs, waiting for Eyahn to catch up. She had chosen awful cover for this place, and he regretted now not convincing her to change into something more intimidating. She was a Guardian, of course, but she _appeared_ defenseless and out here that could be a danger. In the best of circumstances it would mean blown cover.

He caught sight of a pink skirt and cyan sweater coming down the sidewalk and, as he had feared, she was with company. He sighed inwardly, it was not as bad as he could have imagined. Another girl perhaps her age, perhaps younger. Eyahn was listening to the raggedy-clothed human chatter about something or other, nodding politely without smiling somehow. He prayed to the Traveler she hadn’t told the local about who they were or the mission that they were on.

They approached and stopped, the freckled human glaring at him suspiciously, and Eyahn looking expressionless as always but with a hint of dubiety. 

“We are not there yet.” She told him, and the girl with her glanced back and forth between them. 

“I was waiting to see if you were alright back there.” He grumbled in response.

“Weird friend you got.” The other girl whispered to Eyahn. It was a loud whisper. He could hear every word.

Kamon pushed himself off the wall and continued to walk. “Nevermind.”

“Three more blocks.” Eyahn called after him, and fell into step to follow.

“You guys going to that weird old warehouse?” The girl asked. “All the top windows are broken. My brother hangs out late at night around here with his friends, and he told me there's a light from the holes in the glass sometimes. Pretty sure it’s haunted.”

“Is your home far?” Eyahn interrupted, somewhat pointedly. 

“Well… yeah. Kinda. I don’t usually go this way but…You just seemed neat and it’s not often I see a new face.”

“You should probably go back.” She replied evenly.

“You think so? Maybe, yeah.”

“You should.” Eyahn urged. The warehouse loomed ahead, the tallest building by only a bit, over the two story shacks and homes. “It is haunted, after all.”

“Yeah.” The girl agreed, in a tone faintly suspicious. “I suppose you’re right.” She broke off from the pair of them and stopped walking, watching for a moment before turning back the way they had come.

Kamon inwardly cursed his partner’s inability to be discreet. Suspicious civilians could turn out to be liabilities later. But their destination was before them.

“Okay, we’ve got to be careful in the approach.” He said quietly over his shoulder, optics still trained forward. He got no response, not a word or a hum of confirmation. He glanced back, in case he’d missed a nod, and Eyahn was gone.

He whirred in exasperation, did a quick scan of the area. Not a sign of the little Awoken girl. Did he waste time searching?

No, he decided, playing back the temporary feed from his optics. Directly behind him was a tall figure lounging against a building. A glint at his side showed metal. A knife, a weapon, could be anything. They’d had a hand up in a sign Kamon couldn’t recognize, but it was something deliberate. 

In case anyone was watching, he made a show of glancing around one more time, putting on a dramatic shrug, and continuing to walk. His latest scan showed more suspects paying a little too much attention to him. A man with a satchel sweeping some steps, fingers on the broom in an odd position. An exo who looked to be repairing the windowsill of a house, but was drawing freshly hammered nails out of a rotting piece of wood.

Kamon let his stride carry him past the warehouse. In front of the main doors two younger boys were playing cards on an upturned box, doing well to make it appear like they had nothing to do with the building behind them. 

He felt himself falling into a welcome state. He was surrounded, he was notorious, he was alone. He had targets now, in mind, threats playing into his subroutines. He was already judging weights, movements. If the man behind him had a knife, dodge, disarm, bludgeon. If it were a gun, draw and shoot to maim. His iron at his covered hip bounced comfortingly. He was good at this, very good.

He went one more block and then turned, went another and paused to read a street sign. There was one tail behind him a ways. Black jacket, scraggy hair. They stopped when Kamon turned his head, pretending as though he was looking for more direction. He made a second sweep and settled his gaze noticeably on Black Jacket, and nodded as though he wanted to speak to them. The moment Kamon took a step in his direction, Black Jacket turned and strode back the way they had come.

If Kamon hadn’t been suspicious of the circumstance before, he certainly would be now. This group, whoever they were, seemed to be amateur. The Hunter continued on his own way, wrapped around the block and passed by the back of the warehouse. To his surprise, it appeared unguarded. On closer inspection, he saw the odd, human-sized lump, pushed beneath a tarp.

He rested a hand on his gun’s grip, crept closer. Peeking under the canvas, he saw a body, quickly ran his fingers along the neck. Fingertip sensors picked up a slow pulse. But who had knocked him out?

His subs registered movement behind him, and he whirled, weapon drawn and aimed. Aimed too high, he realized, as a small blue face -waist high- peered out the gap in the now open door.

“Scared the Light out of me.” He muttered, gestured to the man’s body. “That you?”

Eyahn nodded curtly and pushed open the door, no longer dressed in the clothes she had come in, but in a black Hunter gear bodysuit she must have been wearing under it, with a plain grey half-cloak reaching just to her thighs. It had been serving as her headscarf, he realized in a moment of awe.

“The top windows were all broken,” She said, a hint of satisfaction to her voice. “As Livia said.”

“Livia.” Kamon replied blankly, processing. The freckled human girl, must be.

“I asked her name.” Eyahn adopted an indignant tone and stepped out of the open doorway. He slipped inside with her. The warehouse was surprisingly barren. There were broken crates and barrels and piles of scrap against one long wall, some shelves near the door with dusty toolboxes and hats. Beneath the only functional light, slightly off from the center of the large room, were three long rows of pallets, with newer boxes on them.

“The Omolon crates are to the right.” She said, gesturing, before closing the door to but a crack and pressing her face to it, peering outside. Kamon watched her for a moment, waiting, then realized belatedly she was probably keeping guard. This would be much smoother if she would just tell him what she was doing.

Kamon set to work, headed promptly for the row of pallets. They were occupied by sealed crates stamped with Omolon’s blue circle logo and interlaced with painted steel drums, likely to hold the weapons coolant and other necessary liquid components. He cracked the lid on the first crate in his path, pulled off the wooden top and lifted up one of the rifles at random. A scout, the Orphne SR4, Kamon had seen the model before. He snapped his fingers noiselessly and his Ghost appeared beside him. It scanned the weapon, processed for a moment, then investigated the coolant chamber. “That is not up to code.” It muttered.

“Take one for Shaxx and one for Banshee.” He ordered, eyeing the dozens of other rifles warily. The guns that had exploded hadn’t necessarily been under strain. Only one had been in use. There was no previous data, then, to tell him how likely they were to detonate at any moment. But if they had been left alone and unattended in this warehouse, they couldn’t be that dangerous, right? Unless they were left alone so no one would be around if they were to rupture. Kamon buckled the thought down into his subroutines. He had a Ghost, death was an inconvenience at worst this close to the Traveler. He moved on, scanning the other containers for signs of anything different. 

Among the crates and drums, was an odd lump, something of different metal and tone. As he got closer, he realized it was a deactivated frame, shrunk down into a resting state, taking up as little space as possible. Kamon saw as he approached the red scarf tied around its neck stalk. The same red as the Redjack sigil on Eyahn’s belt this morning.

“Got a frame here?” He said, low voice. “Looks like one of Shaxx’s...”

Eyahn darted abruptly across the space, quiet feet audible enough that it startled him. She shouldered past him and knelt before the frame, poking and prodding with her fingers. Her Ghost appeared, a little pink thing, and spun around the mechanical body, digging in it’s own way into systems and electronics.

There was a faint whirr and a click as the inert frame lifted it’s head and stood, stretching it’s joints and testing it’s arms. It swiveled it’s optics to look down at Eyahn, and Kamon read a wealth of pleasure in it’s next shift in artificial posture.

“Dahlia!” Eyahn sounded joyful for the first time. The frame nodded in response. 

“Greetings, Eyahn. How may I be of assistance?”

“You know the frame? Of course you know the frame.” Kamon rocked back with a huff, leaning on a nearby barrel to just watch this play out.

Eyahn also sat back, shoulders a little straighter. “Why are you here?”

The frame tilted it’s head. “Attempts were made to compromise my memory banks. All attempts failed.” After a slight buzz she continued. “Investigation, Shaxx’s orders. Omolon arms are defective. Omolon is not responsible.”

“Who?”

The frame’s neck stalk swiveled, looked like an odd sea-bird that occasionally roosted in the south end of the City by the river. It shifted suddenly, joints swivelling into a new configuration. Eyahn, spooked by the movement, dropped into a low crouch and activated her camouflage, fading from view entirely. Kamon shrunk down, pulling his hand cannon out, just as the large front doors to the warehouse began to open.

Kamon cursed their luck, and their dallying. Shadowsmiths were not to be seen. This complicated things.

For him, at least, Eyahn was gone, her dampened Light signature already out of range from him. She’d moved in the direction of the far wall before he had lost her.

Dahlia stalked towards the intruders, a welcome distraction. “Halt. You are to surrender yourselves for questioning.” The frame barked an automated message, the emotion she had shown when greeting Eyahn was gone.

Kamon drew his knife, the smaller one. They were not to kill anyone today, since the culprits were suspected non-guardians. As Dahlia marched forward, repeating her summons, the spattering of bullets on armor rang out, and Kamon bristled with anxious adrenaline-synonymous subroutines. He knew by the sound they were bouncing harmlessly from Dahlia’s plating, but he couldn’t help but think about his companion. Eyahn hadn’t made any move yet, at least none he had heard.

Kamon poked his head out around the crate-just in time to watch a can drop from the rafters and land in the center of four armed men. It dented on impact and ruptured, hissing as gas escaped the container. The men shouted and coughed, but he could se Dahlia carry on. A frame did not need to breathe… and neither did he. The Exo remained unaffected as the smoke enveloped him as well.

Kamon waved a hand to call his helmet, hide his face. He slunk forward, his knife’s blade in his fist. The fog disrupted his optics as well, but secondary scanners still picked up heat, movement. The frame had one man subdued, he for heat signatures of three more, and an anomaly beyond. Eyahn, perhaps? 

He dispatched the three, blows to the head and they crumpled. The man Dahlia held heard the thuds, tried to shout between coughs. Kamon knocked him out too. The smoke was thinning, clearing, he rushed to take cover, checking for a glimpse of his partner.

The anomaly was not her. It was another exo, weapon out, backing away slowly, cautiously. It seemed to have an idea of where he was, had likely seen his shadow in the fog. Kamon’s subs spun, they had distance between them, there was no easy way to be non-lethal about this.

It was then Eyahn dropped from the high ceiling like a comet, slammed into the exo. She took him down from behind, put all her weight into his neck and shoulders. The alloy held, probably, but he dropped, and she yanked something small from her belt, like a finger-sized arc grenade. She jammed it into his neck, and he spasmed for a moment, before lying still. His eye and throat lights pulsed dully, and it sent an alien shiver up Kamon’s synapses.

He rose from cover as she rose from the body, one foot on his back like a champion.

“You had a plan all along?” He grunted.

“You followed it perfectly.” She replied, stepping over the downed exo and striding towards Dahlia, who was organizing the unconscious people, and tying wrists together with cord cut from boxes and pallets in the warehouse.

“What do we do about her?” Kamon asked, gesturing to the frame. Eyahn just raised a dismissive hand.

“Thank you Dahlia.” Eyahn sang, giving her a hug, an actual hug. Kamon is flabbergasted by this child.

“Happy to help, Hunter Eyahn. You keep retirement exciting.” 

“Authorities?” She asked.

“On their way, ETA four minutes and seventeen seconds.”

“We need to _go_.” Kamon pushed, making little steps towards the door. Eyahn huffed a sigh through her nose.

“Codeword: Shadowsmiths.” She said, turning to Dahlia, voice tinged with just a little regret.

“Understood. Selective memory wipe commencing in thirty seconds.” The frame raised one hand and bent it’s wrist joints, a rudimentary wave. “Remember you later, Eyahn.”

“Bye!” She smiled -with her mouth this time- and waved back before darting for the door of the warehouse. Once outside, she pulled her cloak back up into a headscarf, and as her Ghost transmatted fabric into her arms, she wound it around herself, affixing her disguise as a small girl without breaking stride. Kamon shook his head in wonderment, mesmerized by the efficiency.

“How long have you been doing this?” He asked.

“Since the Gap.” She said simply, as though the legendary Battle of the Twilight Gap was last week. It took him a block and a half to realize the ramifications of the flippancy. That she was at least that many centuries. That she likely fought in the battle itself. That not only was she a Shadowsmith, but a Redjack, and possibly one of the very _first._

“You’re ah… you’re real old.” He said. 

A passerby in earshot gave him a funny look, but Eyahn just turned her cherub-like face up at him, and said very seriously, with a gleam in her eye:

“Yes.”

\-------

Kamon set his hands down on the Vanguard table, next to Cadye, accidentally mimicking his Vanguard’s posture. “You didn’t warn me.” He muttered, keeping his voice low. There was still a young Warlock speaking with Ikora.

Cayde’s lights danced smugly. He waited, silently, tracing lines around his map. The fresh Warlock bowed to Ikora and left. Without so much as a glance, the Hunter Vanguard tilted his head in, conspiratorially, waiting until she was exactly out of earshot, or perhaps just for dramatic effect.

“Never trust a Shadowsmith.”

“You, or her?”

Cayde winked, and shut his mouth with a clack, but after a pause added. “No, just me, honestly. Trust her. Traveler’s shadow if you can trust anyone in this City it’s her.”


End file.
